


Reprise

by baroque_mongoose



Category: Girl Genius
Genre: Gen, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-06
Updated: 2015-03-06
Packaged: 2018-03-16 15:48:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3493967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baroque_mongoose/pseuds/baroque_mongoose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a long time now since Lord Heversham was just plain Ardsley Wooster the spy.  But when the British authorities disown and abandon one of their agents after Tarvek catches him in Sturmhalten, his lordship is determined to get him out... personally.</p>
<p>Fortunately, he has help from Gil and one of his old Jäger friends.  Given where Tarvek is keeping the captured agent, he really needs it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reprise

“Gil,” I said, “I wonder if I might ask you a very big favour.”

Gil raised an eyebrow. “Well, I should think I owe you several by now, Ardsley,” he replied. “What can I do for you?”

“I shall, of course, completely understand if you have to decline for security reasons,” I said. “But, the thing is, I'd like to borrow one of your agents in Sturmhalten, if I may.”

“You'd like to do what?!” Gil was clearly flabbergasted.

I sat down opposite him. “I did say it was a very big favour. Naturally, if you were to agree, it would come with a promise on my part never to reveal the agent's identity to anyone. In writing, should you so wish.”

“Oh, for goodness' sake, Ardsley, if I didn't trust you by now I'd be a pretty poor excuse for a human being,” replied Gil impatiently. “I just want to know why the hell you, of all people, would need to ask me to borrow an agent. You've naturally still got pretty close links with your own intelligence service, even if some of them creak at times.”

I grinned. “Creaking is putting it mildly. I have one or two quite impressive enemies in Whitehall, especially since I was invited to sit on the reorganisation committee. I'm sorry to say there were people who were very far from pleased when I insisted on measures to safeguard the mental health of field agents. Apparently, in their view, people's mental health is their own business.”

“Ah, well, that goes some way towards explaining why you want to borrow one of mine,” said Gil.

“So it might, except that it's not actually the reason,” I replied. “If I wanted one of our agents, I could still get one easily enough... for most purposes. But not for this one. One of our agents was caught in Sturmhalten, and the Service disowned him. I want to get him out.”

Gil frowned. “Well, I'm sorry that happened, but... obviously, you know as well as anyone that's an occupational hazard.”

“Yes,” I replied. “And why does it have to be?”

“Oh, come on, Ardsley, you've done the job,” said Gil. “You know how things go. Sometimes it's a matter of national security. It's more important that you can't be proved to be spying on the other party than that you get your agent out safely. It's regrettable, and heaven knows I've always hated it when I've had to do it; but it happens.”

“Everyone spies on everyone else, Gil,” I replied, with some heat. “That is a given. Tarvek is going to know perfectly well that our man is a British agent, whatever our authorities say; he's not stupid, and he's not green. Disowning him won't have changed Tarvek's opinion, nor what he does as a result of having caught him. All it's really done is left this man, whose name, incidentally, is Dai Jones, high and dry. He now has no job, little chance of finding a new one because he has no career history, nowhere to live, and very probably no nationality. I doubt he'll be able to return to Britain.”

“So... you want me to get him out?” said Gil.

“No, Gil,” I said. “I want to get him out. Personally. With some help from your agent.”

Gil gaped. “You? You're seriously going to go to Sturmhalten and try to spring this Mr Jones without Tarvek catching you? Have you lost your mind? You're putting your whole distinguished career at risk. If that got out, you'd be hauled home in disgrace, earl or no earl.”

“Gil,” I said, “I don't care if they'd hang me for it if they found out. Naturally, I shall take the utmost care that they don't; I've still got my old skills. I may not be as fast as I once was, but this still works.” I tapped the side of my head. “And it's my brain I shall need to rely on, dealing with Tarvek.”

“Why are you so determined to do it?” asked Gil. “I mean, is he a friend or a relative or something?”

“No.” I let out a sigh. “I don't know Mr Jones from Adam. But what has been done to him is grossly unjust, and I'm the only person around who can put it right. So... I have to. It's as simple as that.”

“And I suppose you can't just go in there and negotiate with Tarvek, or it would give the game away,” said Gil. “You would be as good as telling him your own authorities were lying.”

“Exactly,” I replied. “So I have to get him out by unofficial means, and for that I need the help of someone who knows Sturmhalten from the inside. One of your agents.”

“Ardsley, you can have all the help from me that you need,” said Gil, “but I'm not letting you risk your career, and absolutely not your neck. We are two clever people. We need to put our heads together and come up with a joint plan that isn't going to involve you sneaking around in the depths of Sturmhalten looking for a prisoner you don't know by sight. Granted, if Tarvek did catch you I'm sure you could talk your way out of the situation; but he'd have a hold on you for ever after that, and I'm sure you'll agree that you don't need Tarvek Sturmvoraus pulling any of your strings.”

“Thank you, Gil,” I said, with feeling.

“Which means I'm going to be arranging an official visit,” Gil continued. “Well, it's about time for one, after all.”

“You're coming too?” I asked, startled.

“Naturally. I know what you're like. Once you settle in your mind that you've got to do something on principle, you'll do it whatever it costs you. So you're going to need me to keep an eye on you, aren't you?” He grinned.

“Gil,” I protested, “I couldn't possibly ask you to...”

He interrupted firmly. “This is not you asking me. This is me telling you. You're willing to take risks for a complete stranger. Don't be so surprised that I'm willing to take them for my best friend.”

“Well,” I said. “Thank you. What else can I say?”

“Nothing else needed. After all the help you've been to me... well. Really, Ardsley.”

Gil, therefore, made arrangements to visit Tarvek, and in the meantime he briefed his agent. We shall call her Adele Messerschmitt, since that is not her name or even very like it; it is also worth mentioning that she is no longer working at Sturmhalten. Gil is inclined to move his agents on when he feels that people are getting suspicious, which, in Tarvek's case, means rather often. Her task was to find out exactly where Mr Jones was being held so that she could let us know prior to our visit. I, for my part, sent a wire to a very old friend of mine, a Jäger by the name of Ottokar who was now a naturalised British citizen. He had worked for the Service himself for some years, and he had even been my replacement after Gil's father found me out; but, after a while, he had found that spying rather palled, and he was now making a steady and much more comfortable living as a chef at a pleasant hotel in Bath.

That, however, did not mean to say he had entirely lost all his taste for adventure; he was due for a holiday, and he was quite happy to come and spend it with us in Sturmhalten. Ottokar was intelligent and cultured – he had, by this time, published a number of books on Richard III under his former surname of von Luftschiff – but he was still, after all, a Jäger.

“You never really have explained fully about Ottokar,” Gil observed, when I showed him Ottokar's response to say that he would be joining us. “I mean, how did he come to be spying for Britain, and why isn't he with Agatha like all the other Jägers?”

“It's easier if I answer your second question first,” I replied. “Ottokar is not a Heterodyne Jäger. Some rogue spark managed to get hold of some of the Jägerdraught, and, through a series of rather involved events, Ottokar found it. The entire area was in turmoil at the time, and he had had enough; he'd served in the military, creditably by all accounts, but he was an intelligent man and he knew very well that soldiers weren't enough to stop the various spark menaces which were constantly being let loose. So he decided to drink the draught. His reasoning was that either it would kill him or he would become a Jäger, and in either case he'd be able to stop worrying.”

“Drastic, but understandable in the circumstances,” said Gil. “So he's a fairly new Jäger?”

“Yes. A Jäger of only some twenty-five years' standing. The rogue spark found him while he was still unconscious from the draught, and sent him to England; he was allied with another rogue spark there who wanted some Jägers. There were, at the time, some in England, but rather sparsely distributed, and the idea was to send Ottokar out to find them. They implanted a tracer device in the back of one of his teeth so that they would know where he was. It was, frankly, a rather crude and impractical plot, and it failed because he happened to run into two good friends of mine who were, at the time, in the spark branch of the Service, and who were investigating the person who had abducted him.”

“Ahhh,” said Gil. “So they took him on board and he ended up in the Service?”

“Pretty much,” I replied. “Though not straight away; my friends employed him as general assistant, bodyguard and, well, Jäger for a while before he finally agreed to join up. I worked with him on a few cases. He is, as I think you're aware, highly intelligent.”

“Yes, I recall Bang telling me he was writing a book. Did anything ever come of that?”

“He published it,” I replied. “And a few more. He's a very diligent historian.”

“And an outstanding chef,” said Gil. “I really missed him when he left. His profiteroles, in particular, were second to none.”

“He may make them again if you ask him nicely,” I said, with a smile. “He really does love cooking.”

“Seems a bit rough if you can't enjoy them too. But, anyway, what's Ottokar's role in this?”

“Ostensibly, my valet. He's actually coming along to Jäger if necessary.”

“Your valet? Will Tarvek buy that?” asked Gil. “You've never had a valet.”

“I'm getting old, Gil,” I replied. “Once this performance is over, I'll be hiring a real valet. I don't bend as easily as I used to. Well, I bend, but my back informs me in no uncertain terms that it objects. So I am giving in and paying someone to help me with my shoes and socks. _Eheu, fugaces_ and all the rest of it.”

Gil put a hand to his forehead. “Every time you talk about your increasing age and decrepitude, I have a minor panic. I'm only three years younger than you.”

“Well, you've aged better,” I assured him. “A lot better. You have nothing seriously the matter with you, and all your body parts are the ones you started out with. Well, except your hair.”

Gil coughed. “We don't talk about my hair.”

“Sorry, Gil,” I said. “But you do see my point.”

Ottokar arrived by airship a few hours before we were due to leave for Sturmhalten; he was wearing a very good suit with abundant brass buttons. Ottokar had always liked well-made, well-fitting clothes, but his usual tastes were rather quieter. He explained, however, that if he was to be an earl's valet, he ought to dress like one, and so he was wearing the suit he normally kept for weddings.

“Do you get invited to a lot of those?” asked Gil, curiously.

“Ho ja, Herr Baron,” replied Ottokar. “Hy got lots of friends. Veddinks, parties, christeninks, bar mitzvahs... und funerals, but hyu got to get used to dot vhen hyu iz a Jäger.”

I nodded. “Yes. That must be the worst part of being more or less immortal. You outlive all your friends.”

“Iz sad,” Ottokar admitted. “But hy try not to tink about it too much. How iz hyu, Herr Baron?” He grinned knowingly.

Gil laughed, in spite of himself. “Still missing your cooking, you wily old spy,” he replied. “Other than that, fine.”

“Hy iz not a spy now,” said Ottokar. “Vell, except maybe for de next few days.”

It was evening when we arrived at Sturmhalten. Tarvek greeted us warmly and treated us to an excellent dinner, while Gil's retinue did whatever it was that they did, and Ottokar disappeared below stairs to mingle with Tarvek's minions. Frau Messerschmitt had been instructed to give him the information on the pretence of flirting with him. That had been Gil's idea, and I could see the logic of it; but I was still in two minds about it. Ottokar is asexual, and he is no more comfortable with flirting than I am, even when it is a mere pretence.

After dinner, I checked my room thoroughly before Ottokar returned. Sweeping a room for surveillance devices is always a more interesting exercise at Sturmhalten than it is anywhere else, because Tarvek has a very high opinion of my intelligence and plans accordingly. I have often wondered if he even uses the devices; I suspect that he mainly plants them as a kind of undeclared game, which I win if I find all of them, and he wins if I do not. Of course, I never have any way of knowing which of us won, but that is Tarvek for you.

He did not disappoint me on this occasion. I found one device in the knob at the top of one of the bedposts (unlike the others, it unscrewed); one in the reading lamp over my bed (a nice touch, since it would certainly be equipped for vision and show Tarvek whatever I happened to be reading); one in the frame of the dressing table mirror; and one behind a portrait of a rather severe-looking Renaissance Sturmvoraus with a ruff. I was not entirely certain why this portrait had been relegated to a guest room rather than hanging in the family gallery with all the others. Perhaps, despite his stern appearance, he had failed to murder enough of his relatives.

Ottokar arrived. “Sorry hy iz late,” he said. “Vos a lot of qvestions.”

I nodded. “I expect there were. Sorry about that. I suppose everyone wanted to know why you weren't working for Agatha.”

“Vell, not exactly. Dey all tot she had lent me to hyu. Dey know hyu iz goot friends. Zo dey vos all askink me about her.”

“Ah. Well, the room's clear, or at least if it isn't there's nothing I can do about it. What have you got?”

Ottokar frowned. “Iz goink to be difficult,” he warned me. “Iz a very goot ting ve got der Baron here. Mister Yones iz not in dis universe.”

I blinked. “What, he's dead?”

“Ho, no. Not dead. Vot has heppened iz dat der Storm King has built a liddle mini universe und put Mister Yones in it.”

“As one does,” I murmured, a little faintly.

There was a tap on the door; as I expected, it was Gil. I let him in. “Ottokar,” I said, “would you like to tell Gil what you've just told me?”

Ottokar obliged. Gil frowned. “All right, Ottokar,” he said. “Obviously there has to be some way of accessing this little universe. I assume the access point must be in Tarvek's laboratory. So that's where we go.”

Tarvek had the same arrangement as Gil. There was only one spark allowed in Gil's laboratory other than Gil himself unless it was for an agreed joint project, and that, of course, was Agatha; but, for the convenience of Tarvek and other spark guests, he had a second fully equipped laboratory alongside. Originally there had been no door between them, but, after an unfortunate accident which ironically involved Tarvek, Gil had had one installed, so that if he was working in his laboratory he could rush to assist his guest if need be. Tarvek, rather sheepishly, had done likewise on his return to Sturmhalten. Naturally, Tarvek's communicating door bolted on his own side; but then, if necessary, we did have Ottokar.

The three of us went down to the guest laboratory, where I did the inevitable sweep before allowing the others to say anything of any consequence. “My, my,” I said. “Five devices. There were only four in my room. You should feel honoured, Gil.”

“Hmph,” said Gil. “He really does go in for overkill. He must spend all his time building these things.” He paused. “Anyway, it's you he's honouring. You're his favourite opponent at diplomatic chess, as you like to call it.”

I grinned. “Yes, and he's mine. We both enjoy a good battle of wits.”

“Has it occurred to you,” asked Gil, “that he may well have ensured that you got to hear about Mr Jones precisely because he knew you'd try to rescue him? That would be such a Sturmvoraus thing to do.”

“Of course it has,” I replied. “And that may well be why Mr Jones is now in his own little bespoke universe rather than in one of the cells. A cell would just be too easy.”

Ottokar was examining the communicating door with a professional eye. “Hy could bash dot down for hyu,” he observed. “But dot iz not very stylish. Und it giffs too much avay. Ideally, ve dun vant him to know ve been in dere.”

“So what do you suggest instead?” I asked.

Ottokar grinned. “Iz a fully eqvipped spark laboratory und hyu iz askink me dot?”

“H'mm,” said Gil. “A powerful enough electromagnet would be able to draw the bolt from this side. That I could build easily enough. It might still take your strength to wield it, though, Ottokar.”

“Ja,” said Ottokar, promptly, “because der magnet vould also pull der bolt tovards der door und make friction.”

Gil blinked. “I keep forgetting just how clever you are. I'm used to Oggie.”

“We are, I suppose, quite sure Tarvek is not in his laboratory at the moment?” I said. “We ought perhaps to do this later.”

Gil shook his head. “Tarvek's a night person. Also, like the rest of us, he's not getting any younger. I happen to know he usually takes a long nap after dinner these days, then goes off to his laboratory later.”

“Ah,” I said. “Frau Messerschmitt knows what she is doing.”

Gil nodded. “Oh, yes. And one thing she will certainly be doing is distracting him when he wakes up.”

I beamed at him. “Gil! You got a message to her without my noticing? I'm really impressed.”

He laughed. “Heh! Now that makes me feel better. Yes, as it happens, I did.”

It took Gil very little time to build the magnet. As we expected, Ottokar had to be the one to use it, but that was not a problem. We stepped through into Tarvek's laboratory.

“Sweet lightning,” said Gil. “He's so _tidy_. How the hell does he do it?”

It was true. A spark's laboratory is normally an ongoing state of surprisingly well organised chaos, but Tarvek's looked almost as though he never used it. Everything was neatly arranged in order. There were racks of different types of tool, all laid out in order of size. There were narrow shelves on the walls bearing bottles and jars of various types of reagent, each labelled in Tarvek's slightly angular and highly legible writing. They were, of course, in alphabetical order.

In one corner, there stood a wooden frame. The body of it was nothing more than three beams fastened together in the manner of a door frame, and these had been augmented by two extra struts at an angle on each side to keep it upright. Gil walked over to it and examined it thoughtfully. “I wonder if that's the portal?” he said.

“It dun look like much,” replied Ottokar.

“It wouldn't have to,” said Gil. “If I'm right, it's just a marker to show where the two universes meet. It doesn't have to be complicated. There'll be some way to make the portal active. At the moment, I think if you walked through it, you'd still be in this universe.”

“Vell, voteffer hyu got to do to make it vork, he has tidied it avay zumvhere,” said Ottokar. “Vould be goot if he had yust left it lyink around.”

“If it is really the portal,” I added. “I mean, for all we know, it could be a place for hanging things up to dry after he's painted or varnished them. Tarvek does like his finishing touches.”

“Could be both, Ardsley,” replied Gil, reasonably. “Let's see what we have here.”

He started on a methodical search of all the cupboards in the vicinity. Ottokar and I would gladly have offered to help, but we did not really know what we were looking for; so, instead, I searched elsewhere to see if I could find any of his notes. I did, but, of course, they were in code. This was no surprise. Most sparks get used to encrypting their laboratory notes while they are still students, and the habit tends to persist.

“Ken hyu crack it?” asked Ottokar.

“Oh, probably,” I replied. “The question is whether or not I can do it within a time frame that is likely to be of any use.”

“Ah!” Gil exclaimed triumphantly. “I think I've found what we're looking for.” He pulled a strange-looking device out of a cupboard. “Now all I need to do is get it to work.”

“And also make sure we know how to get back,” I added. “After all, Mr Jones clearly can't get out from his side without assistance.”

“You see what you can make of Tarvek's notes,” Gil instructed. “Ottokar, I'm going to need an assistant. Have you done this sort of thing before?”

Ottokar grinned. “Ho, ja, Herr Baron. Hy vos an assistant to a spark couple for qvite a vhile. Vos fun!”

I kept half an eye and half an ear on what they were doing, out of sheer interest; I enjoy watching sparks at work, at least when they are not blowing anything up or otherwise endangering anyone in the vicinity. However, for the most part I was concentrating on Tarvek's notes. It was far too much to hope that he was using a simple cipher. It did, however, have to be something he could write down easily, without having to do too much memorisation in advance, and then later read again with the same ease. I wondered if he might be using a code wheel; that effectively results in a number of different ciphers which alternate according to predetermined rules, so that one not only has to work out either thirteen or twenty-six different ciphers, but also the rule for which one is used for which letter. It was certainly what I would have used, in an environment such as a laboratory.

“Zo,” said Ottokar, “vot does der portal look like from der odder side?”

Gil frowned. “What do you mean, Ottokar?”

“Vell, if hyu iz right, on dis side ve got a marker. Vot about on der odder side? How iz ve goink to find der vay beck?”

“Ah,” said Gil. “Good question.”

I was drawing tentative code wheels on a scrap of paper. Of course, if I knew what language he was using, that would help. German was the language most commonly spoken in Sturmhalten and the surrounding area, as well as the principal common language of most of Europa; but it was not the only language Tarvek could speak. I knew he was fluent in French and competent in English, and, following the incident with the dragon, I had also learnt that he had no difficulty understanding Spanish. I was not sure what other languages he spoke, but it was a reasonable bet that there were a few. I had heard it said that the average member of the Europan nobility spoke three languages. This was probably true, and Tarvek was by no means average.

“Hy suppose ve could alvays use a ball of strink,” said Ottokar, practically. “Dot could be vot Tarvek does.”

“That's a possibility,” replied Gil, frowning at the device. “H'mm. If I'm right about what this does, Tarvek hasn't actually created a new universe from scratch, not even a small one; and I must admit I'm rather relieved about that, because I'm not sure any universe deserves to have him as its God. What he's actually done is taken a small universe and found a way to make it permanent and attach it to ours. Or, at least, as permanent as he needs it to be.”

“Hyu make dem sound like bubbles in boilink liqvid,” said Ottokar.

“That's about right,” said Gil. “There are tiny quantum variations going on all the time. Some of them create small, short-lived parallel universes. It's quite likely that a few of those stabilise naturally once they get past a certain point, and expand to become fully fledged parallel universes comparable to our own; but Tarvek seems to have found a way of using the little ones.”

“Finnish!” I exclaimed, suddenly.

“What do you mean, finish? I've hardly started,” said Gil.

“No, Gil! Sorry. Finnish, as in the language. Tarvek's notes are written in Finnish.”

“Why does that not surprise me?” asked Gil. “I didn't know he spoke it, but it makes sense. It's the most obscure language I can think of.”

“I wouldn't say that in front of a Finn,” I said. “But, yes, in a sense, you're right, in that it's not part of the Indo-Europan language group and therefore has very little in common with any other language that anyone here is likely to know. Its closest relative is Hungarian, and that's not exactly known for being the most straightforward language to learn, either; but Finnish is even more isolated from other Europan languages, and therefore hasn't picked up so many loan words, as they are rather misleadingly called. I would not be surprised to hear that Tarvek had learnt Finnish specifically for the purpose of encrypting his notes.”

“And they're coded on top of that, I assume?” said Gil.

“Of course. But I have a handle on that now.”

“Hyu iz clever,” said Ottokar.

I shrugged. “Practice. Also, knowing Finnish does rather help.”

Gil was busily tweaking the various controls on the machine. “Well, I'm damn glad you've cracked it, Ardsley, because to be honest I'm getting a bit stuck here. I've worked out how to pick up and stabilise a miniature universe, but not how to get into the one Mr Jones is in.”

“Maybe iz not der same gedget,” Ottokar suggested.

“I suspect it is,” Gil replied. “There's no reason why he'd build two separate devices. Also, I'm not at all sure what some of these dials do.”

“Give me a few minutes,” I said. “I've got the basic idea, but unfortunately this is not going to be fast.”

“Then I really hope he's taking a longer nap than usual,” said Gil grimly.

“No pressure or anytink,” said Ottokar. Gil gave him a wry look.

“It's all right, Ottokar,” I said. “Gil knows I'm working as fast as I can. Let's see... ah! Do you know which is the zeta tracker?”

“I think so,” Gil replied. “I think it's this thing.”

“Can you switch it on and zero it?”

“I can certainly try,” said Gil.

Gil twiddled some dials. Sure enough, the air between the uprights of the wooden frame began to shimmer. “Iz pretty,” said Ottokar. “Does dis mean iz open now?”

Gil frowned. “I'm not sure.”

“There's one way to test it,” I said. I crunched a sheet of paper into a ball and tossed it through the frame. It vanished.

“Why does it have to be set to zero to work?” asked Gil.

“Presumably because this is the first universe Tarvek has linked with ours, and so he calibrated the device to it,” I replied. “I mean, the numbers are arbitrary. It's like solving an indefinite integral; you always get an added constant, so you can set it where you like.”

“Oh, I see what you mean! It's not measuring a quantity; it's measuring a position. In a rather loose sense.”

“Zo,” said Ottokar, “vhich of us iz goink in?”

“I am,” I said, promptly. “This is my task.”

“But I think we will tie a length of string to your belt, all the same,” said Gil, “as Ottokar has just suggested.”

“Sensible,” I said. “I don't want to end up trapped in there.”

Ottokar found a ball of twine and secured one end of it to my belt with a highwayman's hitch. “You're absolutely sure you want to do this, Ardsley?” asked Gil. “There are still far too many unknowns.”

“Someone's got to,” I replied.

“Well... good luck.”

“Thank you,” I said. I took a deep breath, and stepped through.

I found myself in a large, well-appointed room. I glanced back at the end of the twine, and was startled to see that it apparently went straight through one wall. There was no door, but a window looked out on a blue sky with white fluffy clouds scudding gently through it. A man of about thirty, with a few days' growth of stubble and a pair of dark, alert brown eyes, was sitting in a leather-covered armchair near the window, and he looked sharply up at me as I entered.

“So who are you?” he asked curiously, in German.

“I'm Lord Heversham, the British Ambassador to the Wulfenbach Empire,” I replied, in English. “And you, I take it, are Dai Jones. Would you prefer Welsh?”

“You speak Welsh?” he asked, in that language.

“Most certainly I do. I've come to get you out of here.”

He stood up. “So the Storm King was lying to me, after all! He was very convincing. He said Whitehall had disowned me.”

I sighed. “I'm afraid it has, Mr Jones. But I haven't.”

Mr Jones stared at me. “So... you're acting unofficially?”

“Entirely so,” I replied. “Come on. We haven't got much time.”

“You want me to walk through that wall?”

“Put it this way,” I said. “I'm going to try it. I'm pretty sure that's still where the portal is.”

“I ought to warn you, it's not as though I haven't tried,” he replied. “That's where the Storm King comes in. But when he's gone, I try to go after him, and I can't. There's just a solid wall.”

“If we can't get back, there are two other people out there who can help, and one of them is Gilgamesh Wulfenbach,” I assured him. I walked towards the wall, probably looking more confident than I really felt.

I walked straight into it. “Ah,” I said, rubbing my nose.

Mr Jones pulled a face. “Are you quite sure you know what you're doing, my lord?”

“Absolutely not, but I'm pretty sure that Gil is, or at any rate will be soon,” I replied. “Obviously Tarvek has some kind of separate device for getting back. The string isn't enough. Well, Gil will work that out soon enough, but I had perhaps better give him a hint that I can't get back.” I tugged sharply on the string.

“How does the string go through the wall?” asked Mr Jones.

“I have no idea. You'd better ask Gil,” I said. “Mind if I sit down while we're waiting?”

“Oh, be my guest.” He waved me into the other chair in the room, which was similar to the first, but with a slightly higher seat.

“I see that Tarvek hasn't been treating you too badly, at any rate,” I observed. “This is quite a nice room, although the view leaves a little to be desired.”

Mr Jones shrugged. “The view is entirely artificial. There's nothing outside here. This room is a tiny universe in its own right. But, yes, it's comfortable enough.” He walked over to an alcove and drew back a velvet curtain. “I have a bed in here, as you see. The bathroom is in the alcove opposite. There is a cupboard full of food, and every so often His Majesty brings me some more, so I don't go short.”

“Ah,” I said. “He comes himself, then? He doesn't send anyone else in? I suppose he doesn't want anyone else knowing how to get in and out.”

Mr Jones nodded. “That's right. That's why I was so surprised to see you, my lord.”

“And I expect he chats with you, does he?” An idea was forming in my mind. “No doubt he's very pleasant.”

“Oh, extremely so,” replied Mr Jones. “He couldn't be more polite. Although he's keeping me prisoner here, he hasn't threatened me once, and he's been quite solicitous about my comfort.”

“I thought so,” I said. “And has he, by any chance, suggested you might think about defecting to his service?”

Mr Jones stared at me. “How did you know that?”

“Because I used to be a spy myself, because I know Tarvek Sturmvoraus, and because I understand people,” I replied. “You're Welsh, Mr Jones. You've been betrayed – and, yes, I am going to put it like that – by a group of people in Whitehall who are English, or at least predominantly so. If I hadn't come along to help you, you would be high and dry. Tarvek will have made a very good guess at how you must be feeling: angry, resentful, desperate. He knows very well how to use that, and, to be honest, I'm not blaming him for it. Or you, for that matter. If you want to defect, just say so, and I'll leave you to it and say nothing.”

“You're a clever man, my lord,” said Mr Jones, admiringly. “Yes, you're right. I've been fighting with myself for a while about it. The thing is, I don't want to do it; it's true that I'm furious with the Whitehall moguls for dropping me like a hot brick, but I know what'll happen if I do defect. He'll send me back to Britain to spy for him. I don't think I could do that. Britain's more than a lot of stuffed shirts in Whitehall.”

I nodded. “Oh, how deeply I understand! I was never disowned, but I have had plenty of occasions to be annoyed with Whitehall, and I stayed in the spying business for exactly the same reason as you.” I paused. “If it makes you feel any better, these days I have enough clout to annoy them back. Not that I do it for the sake of it, but I've recently been raising a few people's blood pressure by insisting on proper mental health measures for intelligence agents.”

“About time someone did,” said Mr Jones, with feeling. “Good for you.”

“So,” I said. “When I leave, will you be coming with me?”

“Yes, I will. If you can leave, of course.” He looked worried. “If you can't, you're going to have a hell of a lot of explaining to do to the Storm King.”

“It's not Tarvek I'm worried about,” I said. “We're friends, in a rather odd fashion. Naturally I'd far rather he didn't find out, but if he does, it won't be the end of the world; I can probably reach a deal. It's Whitehall. I'm very much going beyond my official remit here, and I'm not too important to get into major trouble for it.”

“So why did you do it?” he asked, curiously.

“Because it was the right thing to do,” I replied. “Spies aren't disposable. Spies are human beings, and they need support. Everyone knows that everyone is spying on everyone else, so there's not even any point in disowning a spy. Well, not unless they've actually done something wrong, but even then it ought to be the very last resort.”

“If they do catch you and put you on trial,” said Mr Jones, “call me as a witness, because I'd be quite happy to testify that you stopped me from defecting. I told you I didn't want to do it, and that's true; but I think I'd have done it in the end, just because I didn't have any other options open.”

“Well, thank you, Mr Jones; but I rather hope it doesn't come to that,” I replied. “Let's see what... ah!”

Gil strode through the wall. “All right, Ardsley, you can stop worrying,” he announced. “I've found what we were doing wrong. I should have given you this to take through.” He held up a squat brass cylinder with various dials. “It holds open the portal from this side. You two go first, and I'll follow.”

I approached the wall rather more cautiously this time, but it melted away around me and I found myself back in Tarvek's laboratory, looking at Ottokar, who was grinning with relief. Mr Jones followed, and was clearly taken aback to see a Jäger. “This is Ottokar,” I explained. “He's a very old friend.”

Gil stepped out of the portal. “Now we put everything back,” he said. “Tidily.”

We replaced everything as we had found it with due care, returned to the adjacent guest laboratory, and rebolted the door using the electromagnet. This done, we escorted Mr Jones to the safety of my room; this was obviously a little risky, but only if Tarvek himself saw us. Gil had brought quite a large retinue, and Tarvek's minions would be most likely to assume without thinking about it that Mr Jones belonged to it.

“And now for your disguise,” said Gil. “I casually let it be known that I had brought a valet with me. I haven't; you're going to be it, Mr Jones. You will be walking out of here in plain sight. It's no good trying to smuggle anyone out of Sturmhalten.”

“Fine with me, Herr Baron,” replied Mr Jones equably. “And thank you very much for helping. I owe you something for that.”

“You don't,” Gil replied. “I'm doing it as a favour to Ardsley here, who has been a great deal of help to me over the years.”

“This is going to take some time,” I warned. “We have to fool Tarvek, and that means a little more than just make-up and a fresh set of clothes. I'm going to use theatrical wax to reshape your face altogether. The idea is that you won't even recognise yourself when you look in the mirror.”

“I'm going to need a shave first, then, my lord,” said Mr Jones.

“Ve can do dot,” said Ottokar blithely.

It took over an hour, and it was probably the best facial disguise I have ever done in my life. Gil stayed to watch the whole process, since he was fascinated by the transformation. By the time I had finished, Mr Jones had been transmuted from a dark, somewhat fiery-looking young man to a dignified, greying retainer about the age of Gil and myself. He looked in the mirror and grimaced.

“You're good,” he admitted. “But I'm not sure it's a look I could get used to.”

“You'll only have to wear it for the duration of our visit,” Gil assured him. “Oh, and you'll need a new name while you're here. Anything you fancy? Preferably something not Welsh.”

“Oh... Apfelbaum?”

“That'll do,” said Gil. “Would you like a first name? It might possibly be needed.”

“I don't know. Andreas?”

“Fine. You're now Andreas Apfelbaum, and you speak as little as possible, because although your German is excellent, you can't do much about the timbre of your voice,” said Gil.

I finished putting away the make-up. “If you need a touch-up, just pop round,” I said. “If anyone asks, you're coming to see Ottokar.”

“Und hy vill come und see hyu from time to time,” said Ottokar, “because ve iz best friends, right? Ve haff known each odder for a goot long time.”

“That makes sense,” said Mr Jones. “I suppose you wouldn't mind coming to see me now, would you? If we're going to be best friends, I could probably do with a briefing. And, for that matter, we'd better agree on a plausible history for me.”

Gil nodded. “Yes, and I need to be in on that for obvious reasons. I think the three of us had better leave you in peace for a while, Ardsley.”

I yawned. “That's fine with me. I'm thinking of having an early night in any case. Travelling tires me out these days.”

I did. I slept very soundly, conscious of a job well done; and the following morning, after breakfast, I went out for a stroll in the castle grounds. I was not entirely astonished to be joined, after a little while, by Tarvek.

“Ah, good morning, Ardsley,” he said. “I trust you slept well?”

“Admirably, thank you,” I replied. “And you?”

“Quite well, once I went to bed. I was up rather late. A bad habit, I know.”

We walked together in silence for a little while, and then Tarvek asked casually, “By the way, I don't suppose you noticed anything out of the ordinary last night?”

“Not at all. Everything was just as I expected to find it,” I replied.

“Ah... good, good. I would hate to disappoint you,” he said. “Now, where is Mr Jones?”

“Have you mislaid him?” I enquired.

“Perhaps I should be talking to Gil about this,” Tarvek mused. “Nonetheless, I am quite sure this was your initiative, Ardsley. You are the only person with a motive.”

“I do like to play diplomatic chess with you, Tarvek,” I said, with a smile. “And I do believe it's your move.”

“You know,” he said, ruminatively, “there are moments when I absolutely hate you. And, paradoxically, that's why I like you so much. You force me to think.”

“The feeling is entirely mutual,” I replied. “And, I have to say, I am honoured.”

“I knew you'd come here, you know,” he said. “I knew you'd try to get him out. Because that's the sort of person you are. I never expected you'd actually do it.”

“And are you disappointed, or are you glad?” I asked mildly.

“Yes,” said Tarvek.

I grinned. “He'd have resented working for you in the end, you know.”

“Oh, I know. But I'd have at least given him a chance. He was a pretty damn good spy. It was only bad luck that he got caught. He did nothing wrong.”

“Well, now he'll have a chance more to his liking,” I said. “You don't object to that, I take it?”

“When you put it like that, I can hardly do so,” replied Tarvek. “It's just as well for everyone that you're a good man, Ardsley. You would be truly fearsome if you were evil.”

“If I were evil, I wouldn't be here,” I said. “I'd have left him to his fate.”

“So you would.” He clapped me on the shoulder. “You win, Ardsley; I knock over my king. But there will always be other games.”

I smiled at him. “We'll drink to that later,” I promised.


End file.
